


Life After the World Has Ended

by QueerCmdr (JaneGlen)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (back to) college AU, Aro and Ace characters because reasons, Bisexual Clarke, Everyone is Queer, F/F, F/M, It's a Bellarke story but it's a long and painful road, M/M, Modern AU, Protective Bellamy, Raven Reyes is amazing and brilliant and perfect, Slow Burn, Some mention of PTSD and triggers, accidental roommates, demiromantic Bellamy, except Finn because he's a cishet fuckboi, genderqueer/nonbinary characters at somepoint, only in specific chapters, soldier!bellamy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3146366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneGlen/pseuds/QueerCmdr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their late 20's finds both Bellamy and Clarke at NYU. They've both lived through tough times, and have felt the weight of the world on their shoulders. When their on-campus adult-student status puts them in the same apartment, they learn to live with each other, take care of each other, and- over the course of the school year- love each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January, 2014

**Author's Note:**

> This story came about because there's some really great college AUs where Bellamy and Clarke are the "parents" of their crazy friends, and everyone tries to play matchmaker, when the relationship is really inevitable, etc... And while I love those stories, I was wondering what would happen if our Rebel King and Merciful Princess met a bit later. And maybe they struggled through some tragic events on their own, before they had the other to support them. And maybe they found each other while they were healing.  
> This is the answer I've come to, after all my musings.  
> Bellamy and Clarke are far more mature than in canon and in the other college AUs. They've done their growing up, and they've already saved the world. Now they're trying to find a way to fit into the world that they've saved.
> 
> The story follows Clarke for the most part, but Bellamy will show up in Ch 3 or 4.  
> Raven is 27, Clarke is 28.  
> If you'd like to beta, drop me a line!

 “God, Raven, how did we even end up here?” Clarke sighed, her feet in the other girl’s lap, one arm flung over the back of the couch, the other propped on the armrest behind her.

 “ _Here_ as in 'on my ratty couch in my shitty apartment with our legs tangled together', or _Here_ as in 'friends-with-occasional-benefits, who were both screwed over by the same dickhead'?” Asked Raven in reply, her left hand resting on Clarke’s legs, her right clutching a beer bottle that was closer to empty than full.

 “Well...” Clarke drawled, snagging her own beer off the floor, “I was meaning the more existential part of that, where, you know, the universe decided to bring us together by breaking our hearts, but I suppose I wouldn’t mind an explanation for the couch.”

 Raven huffed a laugh, and held her bottle out for Clarke to clink hers against, in an undedicated toast.

 “I guess the world decided that we were each too good for that fucker, and ought to have each other instead.” Raven ran a finger up Clarke’s left foot, causing the girl’s toes to curl. “As for the couch, well, I may be brilliant, but I don’t have a high-dollar job yet, and you have a roommate, _so_ , here we are.” She swept her beer around dramatically, drawing a small smile from the blonde.

The TV murmured in the background, and they girls let a sleepy quiet reign for a few moments.

 “We need to get out of this hell-hole, Raven.” Announced a rather somber Clarke suddenly, and she swallowed the last of her drink, before dropping the bottle back to the floor, and swinging herself up into a sitting position.

 “Where are you _going_.” Raven sighed, though she was already spreading out into the space that Clarke had vacated.

 “I don’t know,” Clarke said, even as she stood, “water, another beer, _something_.”

 Raven followed Clarke into the kitchen a minute later, and found her at the sink, staring at her reflection in the dark window. Clarke turned when she heard her friend’s shuffling, the darker girl’s gait hampered by the knee injury that had introduced them six months previously.

 “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t work in a hospital. I can’t save lives when I see my father’s face in every patient.”

 Raven held out her arms and Clarke walked into her embrace.

 “Then don’t go back Clarke, don’t go in tomorrow, tell them you’re done. It’s not washing out when it’s making you dead inside. It’s protecting yourself, it’s _living_. Something I’m pretty sure your father would rather have you do, instead of wasting away.”

 It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and Raven was certain that Finn had been in her place before she and Clarke had realized his infidelities.

 “Finn never said that,” Clarke mumbled into Raven’s shoulder, “he always told me to push through, said things would get better.”

 Well, this was a different script. And apparently Finn _had_ been in her shoes, but hadn’t been what Clarke needed. _That_ , at least, was no surprise.

 Raven squeezed tighter for a moment, and then took a step back, placing her hands on Clarke’s shoulders.

 “Clarke, you have to make things better, you have to _make_ the changes that need to be made. We kicked Finn out of our lives, don’t continue to live by his advice.”

 Clarke nodded- dry-eyed, Raven was glad to note.

 “I know, Raven, it’s just, I can’t… I don’t know how to do it. I can’t just up and leave a profession I put ten years of education towards. I can’t bail on a field that-”

 “Clarke, stop.” Raven shook her once, “Stop it. This isn’t healthy. You cannot keep doing this. You’re going to _kill_ yourself like this.”

 Clarke took a shuddering breath, and nodded, “What do I do though? Where can I go from here? I don’t know anything other than medicine.”

 Raven shook her head, “You know art. You know people. You know science. Go back to school, get a studio, do something that you want to do.”

 “You think I should?” Clarke asked, her voice wavering with uncertainty.

 “Clarke, we can’t keep having this same conversation. You need to get your life back. And you need to do it _now_.”

 “Okay, you’re right. You are. I know.” Clarke agreed half-heartedly, her head drooping onto Raven’s forearm.

“Good,” Raven said, stepping back into the hug, “and don’t you forget it.”


	2. Mid-August, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke gets to campus, meets her Head Resident (who is a very excitable (and very gay) Harper), and nothing else happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really ought to space out my publications, because I'm never again going to have two chapters ready at the same time. Oh well. This is really just filler anyways, but I want to have this separate from Bellamy's introduction, So...

“Clarke Griffin, on campus adult student.”

She was standing in the admissions center of NYU, fighting a crowd of traditional freshmen, all eager to get their student IDs and welcome packets.

“Here you are, looks like you’re living over in the Ark Apartments, get your ID made and you’re good to go.”

The mousy woman behind the table handed Clarke a purple folder, and pointed her towards the ID line with a kind smile. Clarke returned her smile as best she could, before shuffling over to the ever-growing line.

 

Almost an hour later, Clarke parked her Mercedes in front of a tired and worn apartment complex. She gave the area a quick survey as she got out of her car and headed off to find her HR.

“Ground floor, corner, center building...” Clarke read off the directions from her packet as she walked up to an open door.

“Hello?” She called, sticking her head in and knocking.

A slight girl who looked to be a year or two younger than Clarke popped over the back of a couch.

“Hi! I’m Harper, the Head Res around here- you one of my grads?”

Harper spoke excitedly as she dashed about the small apartment, grabbing a laptop, a basket of envelopes, and a clipboard. At the last moment, she dug a pen out of her many braids, and plopped everything down on a card table that had clearly seen better days.

Clarke blinked a few times before replying, “Um… no, actually, I’m an adult student. Clarke Griffin, by the way.” She held out her hand, and was drug into the room.

“Oh! That’s great, this complex is mostly grad students, but there’s a couple dozen adult students that live on campus- mostly the younger ones like yourself- and you all end up here or over in Weather.” Harper rambled on, oblivious to Clarke’s amused smile, “Weather is newer and supposedly nicer, so it’s generally the… erm... _better off_ adults and grads, and they’ve got my girlfriend as their HR because, you know, she’s the sane one and all that, but it’s all good, this year’s gonna be a _blast_! Here’s your keys.”

Harper stopped speaking rather abruptly, and proffered an envelope in Clarke’s general direction, while clicking away on her laptop.

“Well.. um… thanks,” Clarke managed to say as she took the envelope and looked inside. Two keys were hooked together on a thin ring.

“One’s your room, the other’s the apartment.” Harper answered Clarke’s unspoken question without even looking up, “So it says here that you’re in 106 -that’s right upstairs- and your roommate… oh.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow, “Something wrong?”

“Not really, it’s just you’re the one that’s rooming with the guy.” Harper scrunched her nose a bit, “I _hope_ it’s not a problem. Housing sent me an email saying that this was how it shook out, and that if the two of you were _really_ uncomfortable that they could try to figure something else out, _but_...” The girl looked up at Clarke, clearly waiting for her opinion.

“Oh, I don’t… I guess that might be okay?” Clarke said uncertainly, “Who is he?”

Harper looked back to her laptop, “All I know is that his name is Bellamy Blake, he’s twenty-nine, and he’s majoring in Environmental Engineering.”

“That should be okay,” Clarke decided, set at ease by the very minor age difference, “I’ll just have to meet him when he gets here, I suppose.”

“Great! Then you’re all set. There’s no elevator, but I’m sure you could grab a couple people to help with your stuff.” Harper was bustling around again, “I’d offer, but it looks like the rest of my residents are starting to roll in.”

Indeed, when Clarke stepped back outside, there were several cars pulling up, and a couple people approaching Harper’s door.

The younger girl waved her off, “You’ll hear from me by the end of the week!” She called out, as Clarke got back to her car.

Clarke returned the wave, and looked up at the building. She spotted her door easily enough, and turned to peer into the back of her sedan.

“Well,” She said to herself, “it’s a lot less stuff than your first move-in”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just a fluffy little thing, nothing of import.  
> I'll try to post something with a little more meat to it soon.  
> (and yes, Bellamy is a big hunk of man-flesh, but I really meant that the next chapter would have more plot and such.)  
> (take it as you will)  
> Love as always,  
> Jane


	3. Later on the same mid-August day, 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how the adults-going ~back~ to-school thing works. I don't know how the military-pays-for-school thing works. I'm pretty sure they would have known who their roommates were before they moved in. But I tried really hard to make this a decent sounding chapter so you're going to have to deal with some questionable artistic liberties.  
> Also, I'd really love if someone would like to beta, but I'm not really going to search one out.  
> I have a v rough sketch of the floor plan for the apartment if anyone would like to see. It helps me write scenes, I don't know if it would help anyone picture them while reading??

Clarke hauled her purse, pillow, and backpack up to her door, and pulled out her two keys. She noticed, with no small amount of gratitude, that a previous key-bearer had written an “A” on one key and an “R” on the other. She fitted the “A” key into the lock, and opened the door to her apartment (her’s and _Bellamy Blake’s_ , she reminded herself).  
It certainly wasn’t the Ritz, she thought wryly, but it was a far-sight cleaner than her old med school flat.  
The kitchen was not built for a serious chef, the living area was a bit crammed, with a cheap couch-and-coffee-table-plus set, and the three doors along the back of the open space look like they’d been knocked on a few too many times, but overall, it was livable.  
She crossed the living space and tried the middle door. It was, as she had assumed, a small bathroom. She then tried the other two doors, her key fitting the lock to the left. The bedroom, like everything else about the apartment, was tight. The typical dorm furniture was set up in such a way to be the _least_ useful, and Clarke huffed impatiently, before dropping her load on the floor, and rearranging the room.

Bellamy turned his Chevy into the Ark Apartments in around twelve-thirty. He was hungry, and a little irritable after elbowing his way through the real freshmen in the registration area. He parked the grey truck in the last available spot, between a tree and a black Mercedes. He tried not to feel shabby next to the expensive car. His truck might have seen better days, but it was still a classic- and well taken care of.  
The trunk of the sedan was open, he noticed, and as he hopped out, he realized that a pretty blonde was actually _in_ the trunk, trying to dig out a large box.  
“Need a hand?” He found himself offering, though all he really wanted to do was get his stuff taken care of and find something to eat.  
She looked up at him, apparently startled at being spoken to, “Oh, thanks, _but_ once I get it _out_ of here, it’s _not_ too bad.” She punctuated her words with several sharp tugs, “And it’s my last load.”  
He nodded, “If you say so. Could you point me to the manager person here?”  
With a final grunt, she got her box free, and as she climbed out of her trunk, she nodded towards the end of the building, “Open door on the corner. Harper’s a bit of a talker, but she seems to know what she’s doing.”  
“Thanks, princess.” He said, and turned to walk away.  
 _“Excuse me?”_  
So calling her princess hadn’t been a great idea. _Good job, Bellamy._  
He turned back to her, with a confident smirk “Fancy chariot,” He jutted his chin at her car, then at her hair “golden crown… Fits you pretty well.”  
She rolled her eyes, “The car only looks fancy because my friend’s a mechanic and just about freaks when this thing gets so much as a scratch.”  
She pursed her lips for a moment, then seemed to decide something, and stuck out her hand, “Clarke Griffin.”  
He stepped forward, and shook her hand, impressed -but somehow unsurprised- by her cool, steady grip. “Bellamy Blake.”  
She blinked a few times, and her mouth dropped into a small ‘o’.  
“What?” He asked, confused, “Do I already have a reputation?” He raised an eyebrow, a smug grin firmly in place.  
Clarke gave only the semblance of a laugh, “We’re roommates.”  
“Oh.”  
“Yeah, uh, housing stuck us together because we’re adults and on campus and not paying enough for singles?” She explained with a shrug, her palms face up, showing off an angry scar that ran the length of her left forearm.  
He snapped his eyes away from the mark, and looked back at her face, “I don’t particularly have a problem with it, it’s separate beds but communal kitchen and bath, right?”  
“Yeah, and each bedroom had its own key, so it’s fine by me.” She replied, and she hefted the problematic box up onto her right hip, slamming her trunk closed with her free hand, before grabbing a tote bag from the ground.  
“I’ve already got all my stuff up there anyways, so you’d be the one finding a different place.” She said it with a smile, “First to stake a claim, and all.”  
Bellamy smiled back, “Cool, well, I’m going to check in. Guess I’ll see you in a bit.” He turned away again, and marched off to collect his keys.

Harper, as it turned out, was more that a _bit_ of a talker, but Bellamy humored the younger girl as she dashed around, and he even found himself wondering how she had this much energy for a bunch of older students.  
“I’m so glad that you and Clarke met already and are, like, not hating each other, and not trying to kill me either, ‘cause _let me tell you_ , there are people that would do that if they got stuck like you guys. I’m really sorry you didn’t know earlier, housing’s so shitty about stuff like this, and HR’s don’t have to look through their res lists until we’re checking them off, so I didn’t have _any_ idea and _ugh_.”  
“It’s really not a big deal,” Bellamy said, yet again, and he was relieved when Harper tossed an envelope at him that most certainly contained keys.  
“Well, that’s all,” Harper was waving him out the door, “I’ll be emailing everyone in a few days.”  
“Thanks.” He called over his shoulder, as he headed to his truck, leaving the crazy girl to talk to two guys who looked a bit high.

Clarke offered to help him carry his stuff up the stairs, but Bellamy waved her off, trying to put off a real conversation a little longer. He wasn’t eager to sort out living arrangements with the girl he had just borderline flirted with, and possibly insulted. Unfortunately, he hadn’t brought more than necessary-a habit trained into him by the army- so it wasn’t long before he found himself unpacking individual boxes inside his small bedroom.  
The dresser and closet weren’t big, but they more than held his two duffle bags of clothes, and he was making his bed with the grey sheets ( _They’ve got to be extra long, Bellamy!_ ) Octavia had gotten for him, when Clarke knocked on his door and let it swing open.  
“Hey, so I was just wondering if you brought a TV, or anything for the kitchen?” She asked, her head tilted a fraction.  
Bellamy snapped his pillow into the pillowcase before he responded, “No TV, but I’ve got a set of pans, and some dishes.”  
“I can put them up for you if you’d like,” She offered, “I’ve already unpacked all my stuff.”  
“It’s that box at your foot,” He nodded to it, and moved on to the blanket, tucking the corners with efficient, military precision.

Clarke grabbed the box in question, and turned away, intending to leave her rather abrupt roommate to himself, but hesitated when she noticed how he had made his bed.  
“Military?” She asked, before she knew what she was saying.  
Bellamy turned towards her sharply, “How-” he started, but faded off.  
Clarke bit her lip for a moment, “I had a friend, he was, um, army.”  
She turned on her heel and fled the short distance to the kitchenette.

Clarke wouldn’t quite call it _avoiding_ , but she stayed out of Bellamy’s sight after that. She spent her afternoon settling in; making her bed, arranging her desk, even organizing her small closet twice. She heard him leave in around two, and realized that it was probably time she left her sanctuary to get food.  
She remembered to check the fridge before she left, and made a mental note to get ice, in case it wasn’t cold enough by the time she got back from the store. As she was locking the door, her phone buzzed with a text, and she dug it out of her bag on her way down the stairs.

_From Raven Reyes:_   
_Give me a call when you settle in!_   
_I want to know how things are going_   
_ <3_

Clarke got settled in her car and typed out a reply.

_To Raven Reyes:_   
_All moved in_   
_On my way to get groceries_   
_Call you in a bit_   
_…_   
_I should probably look up the nearest store_   
_XO_

Clarke looked up the nearest Kroger on her phone and headed out, tapping her fingers to the Top Forty as she drove.

She returned half an hour to an apartment still clear of Bellamy. She called Raven, and began to put away her groceries one-handed, leaving out a frozen dinner to pop in the microwave.

Raven answered on the third ring  
“So, how’s college?”  
“Not really college yet, I’ve got three more days before classes.”  
Milk, eggs, gatorade in fridge, plus ice, _check_.  
“Potato, potahto”  
“Yeah, yeah- it’s actually pretty… chill. Though you’ll crack up about my roommate.”  
“Oh yeah? What’s she like? Total straight, white, spoiled girl?”  
Cereal and bread in cupboard next to fridge, powerbars and peanutbutter behind the next door, and groceries all taken care of, _check_.  
“No, actually. Quite the opposite. Dark, male, military. Might be straight, though.”  
“Wait, male?” Raven asked  
“Yup, housing stuck us together because adult-students and money and all.”  
“Ah, well. What’s he like?”  
 _Open box, remove plastic, place in microwave, cook on high for five minutes._  
“Haven’t seen much of him really. I think he was trying to flirt with me before we realized we were roommates.” Clarke wrinkled her nose as she remembered their introduction, “He called me “Princess,” said it was ‘cause of the car and my hair.”  
“Ugh,” Raven replied, “That’s too bad. Is he gonna be a total creep?”  
“I don’t think so, he wasn’t _leering_ or anything. He’s like, 29, so it’s at least not like I’m living in the same space as someone twice my age.”  
 _Pause half-way through, stir pasta, continue cooking._  
“Thank goodness for small mercies.”  
“Yeah...” Clarke said, “Anyways, what about you?”  
Which successfully got the topic onto Raven’s life, and off of Clarke’s. _Score_.  
“Oh you know me, work and boys. I got a sweet Jag to work on all week, it's an older model, and _-oh!_ I've got an interview with Mecha Engineering in two weeks, I'll forward you their email. Wick asked me out again, but I think I may have finally shut him down. He was trying to get me to go for drinks this time and I finally just said ‘Wick, I’m pansexual and you _still_ aren’t my type,’ and, I kid you not, he said _‘Really?_ ’ and then he just bounced away looking as happy as ever.”  
“Raven, are you sure he knows what pansexual _means_?” Clarke asked when she’d processed Raven’s monologue.  
“I’m not, but he didn’t bug me after that, and that was before lunch. So, I don’t really care.”  
The most annoying, grating, death-screech Clarke had ever heard emitted from the microwave instead of a beep.  
“The fuck was that?” Raven asked, her voice caught between amusement and horror.  
“I need you to come work your magic on this microwave.” Clarke said grimly, gingerly removing the hot container from the device in question.  
“ _Fine,_ " Raven replied in mock resignation, "but it’s gonna be a while. I can’t just drop everything and drive four hours and come tinker with your malfunctioning appliance.”  
“I know,” Clarke sighed, “You are still planning on visiting me in September though, aren’t you?”  
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Raven answered warmly, “I gotta go now, enjoy whatever that dying microwave of yours just heated for you.”  
“ _Thanks_ Raven, love you too.” Clarke put every drop of sarcasm she could into her words.  
“Oh hush, lover-girl. Call me soon!”  
“You got it.”  
Clarke hung up, and dove into her pasta, to hungry to savor it.

Eight thirty found her in bed, exhausted from her drive, and unpacking. She ran through a quick mental list of things in her head, and realized she hadn’t contacted her mother.  
Clarke sighed, and felt around for her phone, which she’d laid somewhere around the bed. It took her a few tries, but she finally sent a message that didn’t sound horribly passive-aggressive.

_To Abigail Griffin:_   
_Got here and got moved in._   
_Turning in early._   
_Goodnight._

A few minutes later, her phone lit up with a response, the glow reflecting off the cream ceiling of the room.

_From Abigail Griffin:_   
_Glad you had a safe trip._   
_Goodnight._

Another message came in as she read the first.

_From Abigale Griffin:_   
_I love you._

Clarke swallowed as she read the last line, but resolutely put her phone down, and turned on her side, willing herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired.  
> I have so many plans and thoughts and scenes.  
> I just have so Much that I want for this story, and I can imagine really strong scenes and interactions and dialogue, and I just can't write it. It's very frustrating.  
> Thanks for reading though.  
> Love,  
> Jane


	4. The Next Day, mid-August 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't quite get along, but they manage. Bellamy and Clarke both have baggage, and their first full day of being roommates is a tricky balance of explaining themselves without revealing too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long, I've been working on it between classes, practice and resume building.  
> After this, I'm going to be summarizing a few days at a time, and selecting scenes here and there, instead of writing out full days- it's really hard!  
> I did date the email, but I decided to stick with the chapter titles as I've been naming them.

Bellamy woke just before five-thirty, chilled from sweat and breathing hard. He shook the _memory-nightmare-vision_ of gunfire from his mind and threw the tangled sheets off of him, more sleep out of the question.

The windowless room was painfully black and he grabbed for his phone as he stood up, using it to light his way to the door so he could flip on the overhead. He opened his door a few minutes later, dressed to run, and was assaulted by a bright orange sticky-note stuck roughly at his eye-level.

_B- It’s possible I’ll be back_

_before you’re up, but I doubt_

_it. Help yourself to anything_

_in the fridge/cabinets. C_

The note was written in small and tidy capital letters, taking only half of the tiny square. _Polite yelling_ , Bellamy decided ruefully. He did help himself to a glass of milk, wondering where the blonde - _Clarke_ , he reminded himself, _really, he ought to call his roommate by her name_ \- could possibly be so early.

Clarke returned from her run just after six, and noticed that her note had been moved to the counter, and an empty glass sat next to the sink. She grabbed the paper on the way past, reading the reply he had scrawled on the back.

_Clarke, Thanks for the milk, but_

_no orange juice? And where_

_did you go so early in the_

_morning princess? Bellamy_

She rolled her eyes, took a gatorade out of the fridge, and headed for a shower, leaving the sticky on the counter, vaguely noting that they needed a kitchen trash can.

Half-an-hour later, Bellamy returned to find Clarke bouncing between the stove and counter, cooking what appeared to be nearly a carton of eggs. Her wet hair was tied up on top of her head, and pop floated out of her Iphone. Bellamy bit his lip for a moment, standing in the open doorway. Clarke had barely tossed him a nod when the door opened, and he stood like a fool, looking at a scene that, for _christ’s sake_ , looked utterly... _domestic_.

_He really shouldn’t- He couldn’t help it._

“Honey, I’m home.” He teased, finally stepping into the apartment completely and shutting the door behind him.

That got him an eyeroll at least.

“Cute, but you’d better not expect a peck on the lips,” She startled him a bit with her cheekiness, “even though I did make you breakfast.”

Bellamy crossed to his room, fully planning on a long- hot- shower, and stopped at his door to reply, “You’re not my den-mother you know, you don’t have to feed me.”

Clarke split the eggs and toast - _where had that come from??_ \- onto two plates even as he said it.

“Well, tough, scout,” She informed him, “I’ve been cooking for at least four people every morning for the last three years, so I had cracked half a dozen before I remembered there were just two of us.”

She slid a plate to the edge of the counter nearest him, and a fork and napkin after it. He sighed, and took the plate, _really_ , _he_ just _wanted a showe_ r.

 _Oh_ , the eggs were really good.

He must have mumbled that last bit out loud (around his fork no less), because Clarke snorted and sat on one of the stools before digging in to her own plate. Bellamy finished his eggs in record time and placed his dishes in the sink, saying something about washing up later before heading to his room again, toast in hand.

“Look, unless it really weirds you out I seriously don’t mind cooking breakfast.”

A teenage Bellamy would have dramatically slumped his shoulders and said something flippant about her mothering him again. Current Bellamy restrained himself to a humoring nod, “No, that’s uh, that’s great.”

Finally, he got through his door. He wasn’t _weirded out_ by Clarke cooking breakfast, it was just… Clarke was... intense. They’d exchanged all of maybe ten sentences then avoided each other for a good part of yesterday, and then she got up before he did and was making _breakfast_ and apparently it was a _thing_ that she did and it was going to continue to happen, and Bellamy had been imagining maybe living in the same quarters as a guy like someone from his unit, and Clarke was anything but that. None of his guys had taken up so little space, and yet claimed so much authority at the same time.

He shook it off, and moved on. He really didn’t have the means or the energy to find new living arrangements, so he would simply have to make it work.

 

Clarke let out a sigh when Bellamy’s door closed. She really hadn’t meant to be so overbearing, especially the first morning of a new roommate, but she couldn’t help it.

She had spent her long drive to New York City telling herself that she would get through the year quietly, make a few friends here and there, be on good terms with her roommate, and take care of herself. Yet her she was, making a fool of herself and probably doing an excellent job of convincing her roommate that she was bat shit crazy.

Between avoiding him yesterday and leaving him a note plus making breakfast this morning… At least she had been telling the truth about why she cracked so many eggs.

She allowed her shoulders to slump for a moment, then collected herself and her plate. She was pretty sure Bellamy had mumbled something about doing the dishes, but she took care of them anyways, and didn’t turn away from the sink until she heard him come out of his room and head into the bathroom, snapping the door firmly shut behind him.

 

They avoided each other for another few hours, but around noon, Clarke received an email from Harper, and groaned at the subject line, before clicking it open.

_To: cgriffin@nyc.edu, bblake@nyc.edu, mgreen@nyc.edu, jjordan@nyc.edu………_

_From: hreist@nyc.edu_

_Sent: Friday, August 22 at 11:52 am_

_Subject: Rules, Regulations, and Roommate Contracts_

_Hey Residents!_

_I’ve now met everyone and it seems like you are all settled in, you know where to find me and the packets you got from me include the rest of my contact info._

_Some of you are familiar with campus, and some of you are new. There is Adult and Grad Student orientation offered today and tomorrow, see attachment 1 for more info._

_Also attached are rules and regulations for the campus and these apartments. Please review these._

_The biggest problem -and one that I will not, under any circumstances tolerate- is minors getting alcohol._

_Everyone here at Ark Apartments is of legal drinking age, but minors get invited to parties all the time._

_Then people get drunk and bad shit happens. Like drunk driving. Or rape._

_Not on my watch, people. Don’t do it._

_Don’t give alcohol to minors, don’t drive drunk, don’t rape._

_It’s pretty simple._

_I know that there are a lot more rules and regulations on the attachment, and I’ve bolded some that I will definitely get you all in trouble for, but do not test me on alcohol abuse. And it’s not just a problem with minors, you guys can be pretty stupid drunks too._

_Anyways, you all need to fill out roommate contracts. You can email them back to me, no need to print. Sit down for ten minutes with your roommate, hash things out, and “sign” the form, it’s that simple._

_Get that back to me by Sunday at midnight, and I won’t wake you up at 6 am Monday morning. :)_

_Don’t be afraid to drop by or shoot me an email/text!_

_Harper_

_(Your pretty freaking awesome HR)_

 

Clarke rolled her eyes, and decided to get it over with. She unplugged her laptop and opened her bedroom door at the same time Bellamy opened his, also carrying his laptop.

“Contract?” He asked.

She nodded, and lead the way over to the couch, realizing that the furniture wasn’t quite as bad as she had originally thought.

“Did you already download the contract? Adobe’s been a little wonky on my laptop the last few weeks.” She said, setting her computer on the coffee table, and clicking fruitlessly at the frozen program.

Bellamy grunted in assent, and set his bulky Toshiba down before sitting on the couch. There was a careful space between them, the edges of the central cushion supporting Clarke’s right knee and Bellamy’s left leg.

Clarke inhaled deeply. She really wanted to suggest that they start over, but figured that it would only make things worse.

They were fucking _adults_. This was ridiculous.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything though, Bellamy huffed out an exasperated and tense breath.

“Look, the past twenty-ish hours have been really awkward. Which is stupid because we’re adults, not eighteen-year-olds.” He started, “I’m Bellamy Blake, I’m army reserves, I’ve gone a few tours, and I’ve got some PTSD because of it.”

He held out his hand, and Clarke shook it.

“Clarke Griffin, I’m a year of residency away from becoming a doctor, but I can’t function in a hospital because I’ve got PTSD from the Boston Marathon bombing.”

Bellamy’s face showed shock at her words, and he seemed to chew on his next thought before he spoke, “Well, we’re quite the pair I guess. At least you’ll understand when I tell you something’s a trigger.”

Clarke simply nodded, giving him a tight smile.

“So, the contract…” She said after a short moment.

“Yeah, it’s mostly just ‘how clean will you keep the place’ and ‘how will you resolve disagreements’ and basic stuff.” He replied, tilted his laptop more towards her.

They ended up inching a bit closer, and knocking out the fifteen topics without much trouble or awkwardness, though number twelve was...interesting.

“I’m fine if you’ve got friends over, but you’ll have to ask me if you want to have a bunch of people until really late, and if you’ve got a fuck buddy, I just ask that it’s not someone I’m dating, and you keep all the action behind your door.” Clarke declared, after skimming the questions about overnight guests and notifying each other.

Bellamy did a rather remarkable impression of a fish for a second, before snapping his jaw shut, and snorting, “You certainly don’t beat around the bush.”

Clarke raised and eyebrow in response, “Like I mentioned earlier, I’ve been living with multiple people for about a decade. Shit happens. You learn quick to roll with it.”

Bellamy just shrugged, mumbled something about, “Same applies to you I guess,” and typed in something quick about a text notification, before moving on to the next question.

 

Clarke went out to eat when they were through, quite satisfied that she had managed to come across looking like a fairly normal person. She figured that they could manage to respect each other’s space, and work around and with each other enough to make the year work, and that was good enough for her.

She texted Raven a picture of the doughnut truck she stopped at for desert, and captioned it with a “wish you were here <3.” Less than a minute later, Raven texted back, demanding that Clarke keep tabs on the truck so that they could visit when Raven got a chance.

Clarke hummed happily around her hot doughnut, and meandered her way back to her car, trying to decide if the truck was within reasonable walking distance from her apartment.

 

Bellamy sent their contract back to Harper, and headed out to buy food for himself and visit Octavia. Clarke had surprised him again. He was getting used to telling certain people about his PTSD, and he had known when he enrolled at NYC that his roommate would have to know, but he hadn’t expected her actually _know_ what it _meant_.

He knew about Boston; his unit had shipped out from Arlington just days after it happened, and one of his men had lost a close family friend to it. He didn't know if Clarke had been on sight, or if she’d just witnessed all the victims coming into the hospital. He wasn’t about to pry though, and he knew that Clarke wouldn’t be asking him any particulars on his story. He remembered suddenly that she had a scar on her forearm. She had been wearing a sweater when they sat down to look over the contract, but he wondered if the scar meant that she _had_ been at the finish line.

They _would_ have to share triggers, he thought, as he cringed in response to a car alarm. As personal as that conversation would be, they really couldn’t wait until something happened to set one of them off.

He called Octavia on his way to her dorm, but still had to wait for her to mosey down three flights of stairs.

“Hey Bell,” She greeted him, waving to someone with one hand, while she pulled him into a crushing embrace with the other.

“Hey, I thought I’d drop in for a few minutes, I brought you a box of Luna bars.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Octavia said with an exaggerated eye roll, “how did move-in go?” She asked as she led the way to the stairs.

“Fine, I’ve got a pretty interesting roommate though. I think you’d probably like her.” He said, smirking just a tiny bit.

Octavia’s head snapped around “What?”

He laughed, “Yeah, we got stuck in the same apartment because we’re the two cheapest adult students or something. Though she’s got a Mercedes and a bunch of Apple products, so I’m not sure what she’s really doing in the low-budget housing.”

“That’s weird. What’s she like?” Octavia asked.

Bellamy shrugged, “I can’t really figure her out, but I know she was on track to be a doctor, she’s used to living with people, and she seems like she’s trying to not take over things.”

Octavia tilted her head questioningly as she started up the final flight of steps, “What’s she at school for now, and what do you mean ‘on track to be a doctor’?”

Bellamy knew better than to share about Clarke’s PTSD, “I don’t know, we really haven’t talked very much. Just introductions and the roommate contract.”

Octavia eyed him, “You’ve lived with her for almost a day and you’ve _introduced_ yourself?”

He shrugged, “We’re not the most conversational people. Anyways, I came by to talk to you and see how you were doing.” He checked her shoulder as he brushed past her out of the stairwell.

“Pretty good, Lexa got the rest of her stuff moved in last night, so we’re just hanging out and eating.” She opened the door to her room, and nodded to her roommate, who took an earbud out when she saw Bellamy behind Octavia.

“You’re brother?” She asked.

“Yep, the one and only Bellamy Blake.” Octavia responded, clapping him on the arm.

“I’m Lexa,” The girl said to Bellamy, before putting her earbud back in and going back to her laptop.

Bellamy barely had time to nod before Lexa’s attention had moved on, but he got the distinct impression that the girl had only been the pretense of pleasant for Octavia’s sake.

He raised an eyebrow at his sister, “Fun roomie, O.”

She shrugged, “She’s a fifth-year, she could have graduated with a double major last year, but she’s back for her masters in poli-sci. She warms up to you. Sometimes.”

 

He left not much later, conscious of the dairy products he had left in the truck, “When I get my schedule figured out I’ll let you know. I’m only twenty minutes away, so you’d better come visit.”

He could feel the eye roll she directed at him, but she hummed assent anyways. He pulled her in for a hug at the door, “I’m really glad to be home, O, so let’s stick together okay?”

She pulled away enough for him to see her smile, “Of course, Bell.”

 

Bellamy carried in two big bags of groceries just as Clarke opened the fridge for a glass of milk.

“Need any help?” She asked, leaving the fridge open, “you don’t have to carry the bags like that you, know.”

He cocked his head questioningly as he set the bags down, “There’s just one more load, what do you mean?”

She put a carton of juice in the fridge, “Both bags in your left arm. You’re not in uniform, so you don’t have to salute.”

He stiffened a bit, and she seemed to realize, “Oh, god, I’m sorry,” She stuttered, her shoulders drooping, “I really don’t mean to, like, _analyze_ you, I just… Wells used to do that between tours, and I… I’m sorry.”

Bellamy nodded curtly and went back out. He carried up another two bags, and if he had one in each hand, well, she was facing away from the door.

“I figure if you’re gonna make breakfast you can use what I buy.” He offered, “Other meals are on your own.”

Clarke nodded, and put away a can of tomato sauce, the last item from the first load, “Sounds perfect.”

She darted into her room, leaving Bellamy to finish storing his food.

 

 She reheated her leftovers from lunch that evening, and wrote out a list of groceries that she would have to get for herself, sitting at the counter as she had earlier. Bellamy nodded to her when he came out of his room, but otherwise ignored her for the time it took him to put together a salad and a turkey sandwich.

He was returning to his room when Clarke broke their silence, “I usually don’t get up so early, the first day at a new place always has me on edge.”

He turned back to her, and eyebrow raised, but not speaking around his mouthful of food.

“I just mean, I can fix breakfast for you around six, if that’s when you’ll be around, but I don’t like to let food get cold, so if you’re not set in your schedule yet…” She trailed off, not really sure why she had brought it up anyways.

“Six works for me, but if you’re going for beauty sleep, I can make my own eggs.” He said, somewhere between a challenging and flippant.

She rolled her eyes, “I mean I’m not usually awake at four-thirty. Six is a pretty normal time for me to be up.”

He bit his tongue, “Six, six-thirty, whatever is fine. I’ll suffer through reheated eggs if that’s my fate.”

He turned on his heel and left, shutting his door behind him. Clarke shrugged, knowing that she should have just let it rest, but accepting that it wasn’t possible for her to do so. She wondered if they could make it work, or if her lucky streak with roommates had come to an end. In ten years, she'd only had two major problems, both of which were quickly resolved by frank discussion, something she and Bellamy seemed to avoid. Shaking her head, Clarke tidied up the kitchenette, and headed back to her room, fully intent on surfing netflix until bedtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the next chapter will be up more quickly, because then we get into the fun stuff that I've been itching to share with you all! I've got a lot of ideas for this story, so I definitely won't be leaving it to shrivel by the way side.  
> If you've got any better ideas for the title of the story, please leave suggestions! I'm terrible at naming my fics.


	5. The First Few Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The get settled in, and learn to dance around each other.

Somehow over the first few weeks, Clarke and Bellamy had come to a delicate balance. He got back in the mornings just as she left -she was also a runner, just one more thing that Bellamy hadn’t expected out of her- with his plate (usually eggs and toast, but on the weekends french toast or pancakes) on the cooling burner of the stove. She came back as he was getting out of the shower, or as he was leaving for work, depending on how long she ran for. (He always came in at 6:15, if he wanted to run longer, he got up earlier. He would never tell her this, but he had realized that she really _did_ know how to make breakfast.) They rarely saw each other during the day, except for their shared History of Film seminar on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. They were the oldest students there, and sat on opposite sides of the room. Bellamy would return to the apartment at four or five-thirty, depending on the day, and Clarke would be there just before or just after his arrival. Bellamy usually stayed in his room to do homework, but Clarke used the common space as a studio, opening the curtains in an attempt to utilize natural light.

He asked about her extensive set of (rather high quality) art supplies on the third day of classes, when he walked into the common room to find her angrily erasing at a graphite mark.

“I’m majoring in Studio Art,” had been her short reply.

He pursed his lips, wondering yet again why she was living at Ark, when she clearly had the money to have something much nicer.

xXx

Octavia visited on the Friday at the end of the second week of classes, dropping in around dinner time. She took to Clarke immediately, much to Clarke’s confusion and Bellamy’s resigned amusement. Bellamy had shrugged helplessly when Clarke’s wide eyes met his over Octavia’s shoulder. His sister had taken one look at his enigmatic roommate and enveloped her in a hug, which Clarke hesitantly returned. Octavia released the blonde and stepped around her to inspect the sketchbook Clarke had laid on the coffee table. Bellamy felt somewhat at a loss, unsure of what to do since Octavia seemed completely absorbed by the art. He finally was able to ask if she wanted to eat, and she nodded eagerly, so he made a pot of pasta, and listened to the two girls talk about Clarke’s work.

“Bellamy said you were training to be a doctor,” He froze at Octavia’s words, “But I can totally see why you’re here for art, why didn’t you do this in the first place?”

Bellamy relaxed, but he could swear he had felt Clarke’s eyes on him when Octavia had started.

“I really loved bio and pre-med, but life… just happened and I really needed to start over.”

That was pretty much what Bellamy had gathered in the two weeks he had known her, but he felt a little uncomfortable all the same, and rummaged around for a saucepan in an attempt to distract himself. Fortunately, Octavia seemed to take the hint that Clarke wasn’t into talking about herself, and she she jumped into _her_ life, telling Clarke about Columbia and her double poli-sci and gender studies majors. Dinner was ready before much longer, and Bellamy interrupted Octavia’s winding tale about her high school newspaper internship and how it had led her to study gender disparity in media and so on.

“O, your food’s ready.” He had tried waiting out her explanation of the racist and sexist tones of shock value deaths, but wanted to eat before the pasta got cold. He looked over at Clarke, “There’s more than enough if you want some,” he offered.

She seemed about to decline, but Octavia didn’t give her a chance. Instead, she slung an arm around Clarke’s shoulders, and led her the few feet over to the bar stools.

“Bell makes great spaghetti,” She proclaimed, “and I want to know what life is like for an art major!”

Bellamy slid them each a plate of pasta, and started to tell Octavia to let Clarke be, but Clarke just smiled and shook her head at him.

“I’ve got a few studio classes this semester, a business class, and History of Film,” Clarke told her, “with Bellamy, actually,” she added, inclining her head towards him as he sat down across from them. “Kind of what you would expect, I guess. I only need the credits for my degree, because I finished all of my undergraduate requirements the first time around.”

Octavia looked like she wanted to ask just why the “first time around” wasn’t the only time, but Clarke’s tone offered no room for questions on the matter, and Bellamy leveled his best glare at his sister. She kept her mouth shut, but rolled her eyes for Bellamy to see. Dinner ended up being less awkward than he imagined, and all too soon Octavia was leaving, with a peck to his cheek (neatly avoiding the plate he was drying), a promise to text soon, and a dash over to Clarke for another hug and an insistence that they ‘absolutely must hang out sometime!’ before she was out the door.

Silence reigned for a moment, as the two flatmates recovered from Hurricane Octavia.

“When you mentioned you had a college-aged sister,” Clarke said, as Bellamy put the last of the dishes away, “I didn’t realize she was quite so-”

“Volatile?” He suggested, “Loud, forceful, boisterous?”

“Young,” She finished, “Young and... lively. And sharp.”

Bellamy looked at her. She was standing in the middle of the room, where Octavia had released her from their parting hug.

“Look,” He said, needing to clear up what had been nagging at him since Octavia arrived, “I didn’t tell her about you having PTSD. I, uh,” He took a breath, noting with some relief that Clarke wasn’t angry, “I just told her you were going to be a doctor but you changed your mind. She was curious about my roommate, which I guess serves me right, as I background-checked her first one, but I didn’t tell her anymore than that.”

Clarke had listened quietly, and when she responded it was calm, “I didn’t think you had;” she said, “I’m pretty sure that even if we didn’t get along at all, you know enough about what it’s like to respect my privacy, but thank you. I do appreciate you telling me.”

Bellamy nodded, and they said their goodnights, falling back into their routine the next morning.

xXx

The next Thursday, Clarke was scrawling a few extra notes after her film class, when she heard Bellamy calling for the professor. She glanced up momentarily, but ignored her curiosity and finished her notes. When she slid her notebook into her messenger bag, she could hear the two talking in quiet voices, and realized that Bellamy was requesting to be exempt from the movie they had been assigned to analyse over the weekend. She was walking out of the classroom when she realized why; the film was _All’s Quiet on the Western Front_. Of course Bellamy wouldn’t want to go through that. Even in grainy black-and-white, the experience would be all too real. She had seen it in high school, and was pretty sure she could get through it, though perhaps she would keep the volume off and use subtitles. The sounds of bombs and screaming were what troubled her most, but Bellamy... She turned and walked back into the classroom.

Bellamy and the professor were shaking hands, and Bellamy was thanking the woman. It had clearly gone over well, but Clarke waited for her flatmate anyways. Bellamy had seen Clarke scribbling more notes as the younger students trickled out, but while he’d rather no one witness him begging out of an assignment, he wasn’t overly concerned with her around. He didn’t expect her to be waiting for him though, so when he looked up on his way out of the room, he was startled to see her standing there.

“Hey,” Clarke said, when he stopped in his tracks, “I, um, I just… You okay?” She was mumbling a bit, but looked him straight in the eye when she asked.

He nodded, “Yeah, it got sorted out pretty well. I’m not… All’s Quiet just-”

“I know.” She said, “I’ll probably have to watch it on mute.”

They walked out of the room together, letting a silence fall between them as Bellamy tried to puzzle out why she’d be watching it without volume. It wasn’t for his sake-he’d seen her watching netflix with earbuds plenty of times. It hit him, suddenly, when they reached the outer doors of the building. Stepping out into the busy campus allowed them to hear the main thoroughfare, including the angry honking of several cars. Even as Bellamy stiffened at the raucous noise, he noticed his flatmate wince and pull her arms tightly around herself. “ _Oh_ ,” He thought, “ _I’m actually an idiot. Noise is her trigger. That makes a lot of fucking sense and I’m an oblivious_ idiot.”

He glanced sideways at her, glad to see that she seemed to be pushing through. “Alright,” He said, grabbing her elbow and steering her towards the campus’ favorite pizza joint, “let’s eat. I hope you’ve got cash on you ‘cause I’m not paying for both of us.”

Clarke glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing as she tried to decipher his motives, but as she sped up to keep pace, she kept her mouth shut, not questioning her flatmate.

They ate inside, tucked into one of the quieter booths, and didn't say much, just small talk about their classes or the other customers. Eventually, Clarke let out a sigh, and fixed him with a decided stare.

"I think we ought to buy a few beers and have a long conversation tonight."

Bellamy let his head fall back against the booth, and raised an eyebrow, "You want to hash out our life stories, or just the bits that have left us flinching at loud noises?"

If she wanted to be blunt, then he could be blunt. He'd never been very good at pulling punches anyways, so it was a relief to think that he might get to deal with the issues that he and Clarke had tried to avoid for the last couple of weeks.

"Well," She said, her fingers trailing through the condensation from her water glass, "I figure we need to get the nasty bits out, but the rest of the back story could probably wait another month or two. I do have class tomorrow, so I don't think I'll get drunk enough to spill all."

"Fair enough," He nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I could have posted this much a month ago. I just lost interest and am kind of stuck on some ideas.  
> I planned to make this chapter longer, but I decided to just get it up already.  
> If you'd like, you can listen to the sound track I cobbled together for this: http://8tracks.com/queercmdr/life-after-the-world-has-ended


	6. That Evening, mid-September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is rather shorter than I intended, but I decided to cut a large portion of the conversation for use at a later time when they are more comfortable together.  
> 

They left the pizza joint and drove back to their apartment separately, each stopping for their own beer. When they got back, they went about their regular routines, Clarke touching up an assignment for her studio class, and Bellamy doing some research for his history elective.

Around nine, Clarke popped her head into his room, where he’d moved on from dissecting the Peloponnesian Wars to the reading assigned to his environmental class.

“You ready?” She asked.

“As ever,” He replied, standing and shaking out his shoulders from their hunched position. He followed her into the living space, and took a corner of the couch.

She’d gotten their beers out of the fridge already, and he reached for his, noting with some concern that Clarke had gotten a no-name canned beer for herself. In response to Bellamy’s dubious look, Clarke said, rather defensively, “I match my beer to my mood. Shitty beer for a shitty day.”

Bellamy shrugged, and opened his Corona. Not the best, but cheap and far more palatable than her choice. Clarke settled at the other end of the couch, facing him, her feet on the cushion between them. She opened her drink, and took a few swallows.

“I’ll start,” She said, after she’d recovered from her initial revulsion to the taste, “I was in med school in Boston. My dad was a runner. I was waiting for him at the finish line. Boom.”

She downed more of her beer. Then looked at him. Bellamy realized that she’s waiting for him to spill before going into any more detail. He took a drink of his beer before speaking.

“I served a couple tours. Saw a lot of shitty things. A lot of my guys got hurt or killed.” He paused, “I did some killing.”

She was quiet for a minute. Condensation from his bottle slid down his wrist.

“My best friend served a couple tours. Had early signs of PTSD before his last. He shipped out days before the marathon. I blamed him for weeks for not being there for me. Then I’d barely made up with him when he was... when he was murdered.”

Bellamy flinched. “I had a guy killed right outside camp. Quiet, experienced, but kind. Worst three days there. A little local girl, she… she… In the end, she threw herself-” Here his voice broke, and his set down his beer so he didn’t drop it. His throat closed up, eyes stinging. He’s not even close to tipsy and shouldn’t have started talking about Jaha until he was well on his way to blackout drunk.

They’re quiet after that. For a while at least, stewing in their own thoughts, trying to get drunk just a few more ounces of cheap alcohol.

Eventually Clarke started talking again, “Dad died in the hospital. Blunt force trauma. I couldn’t save him. I was trying to get to him, and something on fire hit my arm. I couldn’t get to him, and I couldn’t save him. My mom wasn’t there. She could have saved him and she wasn’t there, and now I can’t go to a hospital without having a panic attack and explosions give me flashbacks, I startle and it takes me forever to calm down.” She said it all quickly, like she had to force it out in one go.

She looked down at her scar, then added “I’m not any good at treating burns anymore.” She sounded lost.

Bellamy felt sick, and finished his beer. “I- uh, loud noises, bright flashes, and shit like that that I’m not expecting… I get panic attacks, nightmares. I’m handling my anxiety okay, but I have to, um, stay on a pretty strict schedule.”

There is another moment of silence.

“Yeah. The, um, schedule thing for me too. Art helps. If I, erm, ‘practice’ it. And step back when it starts to stress me out.” She finally responded.

By the time they got up to toss out their bottle and can, it was closer to eleven than ten, and Bellamy let Clarke have the bathroom before he went in to brush his teeth. Both fell into their respective beds and fell into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: a playlist exists on 8tracks under the same title, pls let me know if any of the songs don't play  
> <3


	7. September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is bigger than just the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, and for how short this is. Between writer's block and the work load of college I'm falling way behind with all my fics.  
> I've neglected the other characters, so this chapter is a bit of a catch-up, jumping around to grab bits from August, and leaves us towards the end of September.

After that, there was a small but discernible shift in their relationship. They still ran separately, but when Bellamy came in, Clarke would sit and drink her tea while he ate, instead of already being gone or leaving when he walked in. He started working in the common area, claiming two couch cushions and enough of the coffee table to prop up his feet. She would show him her sketchbooks when they both needed a break from their assignments. It wasn’t anything major, but they both felt more at home, and more willing to share each others space.

 

While Bellamy and Clarke were finding their footing around each other, they were also figuring out their neighbors. Though the apartments were full, most of the students were graduates and as such were quite busy and rarely around. There were a few, however, that they got to know to varying degrees.

During the first week of classes, Jasper and Monty, graduate engineering students, introduced themselves. Though seemingly perpetually high, they were good enough sort, and Clarke politely declined their offer of moonshine, telling them that she’d had her share of college fun the first time around. At this, Bellamy (who was standing just outside their doorway, having been on his way into the apartment when the duo was talking to Clarke) snorted. When she asked him about it later he said something about her being a princess. She had rather hoped he would forget the nickname, but she didn’t say anything about it. Occasionally they would see Harper around and sometimes her girlfriend, Monroe, would be around for parties with her, Jasper and Monty. Monroe, as it turned out, was army reserves, and every now and then, Clarke would find Monroe and Bellamy sitting outside Harper’s suite, talking about training and Bellamy’s tours. Echo and their roommate often hosted parties, but lived far enough away from Bellamy and Clarke that the noise didn’t bother them.

 

One night in early September, before their beer night, Jasper had knocked on their door to invite them to a party “with ‘shine and everything!” which Bellamy declined to attend. He looked over his shoulder and asked Clarke, who was working on a charcoal sketch if she wanted to go.

“I’m good, thanks.” She replied, and that was that.

Jasper, while disappointed in their lack of enthusiasm for his parties, was not deterred from befriending them, and Monty, similarly cheerful, joined him in his efforts. Clarke often found herself joined by the two when doing laundry in the building’s basement and, while they waited on the machines, would join them for Scrabble, which, to her amazement, the two played by-the-book with grave seriousness. One Saturday afternoon, post their tipsy tête–à–tête, Bellamy joined them and Clarke, who had managed to hold her own, found herself struggling to keep up, as her roommate was revealing himself to be a veritable dictionary.

“Dude,” Jasper exclaimed, “I bet you’re super good at trivia.”

“Yeah, you should join our team on Thursday nights, we rotate between Trivial Pursuit and Jeopardy!” Monty contributed.

Clarke laughed, “You two are wild. How on earth are you keeping up with grad level engineering?”

“Wait, you mean I’m still a student?” Jasper was bug-eyed, staring at Clarke in exaggerated surprise.

Monty, however, gave a sheepish smile, “We only pretend to be this wired all the time. We do buckle down and do our work.”

Bellamy smiled, “I’m not one for game nights, and I think it’s time for you all to switch over your laundry.”

It was, and they finished the scrabble game in short order, with Monty and Bellamy tying for first, and Clarke a close second.

 

Raven called when she could, and eventually reserved a long weekend off of work, promising Clarke that she’d drive down in late October, “And Clarke,” she added, “we are going trick-or-treating in fucking _New York City_. I expect some _damn_ good costumes.”

Clarke laughingly agreed, but decided to find Halloween parties instead, knowing Raven would be happy as long as she got to look cool and eat malt balls. When Clarke checked with Bellamy about the dates that Raven had given her, he shrugged and said it wouldn’t bother him.

If Clarke sketched out costume ideas for a three person group, well, it wasn’t like she had a third in mind. Trio ideas just came more naturally.

 

Octavia continued to join Bellamy for dinner once every week or so, and, when she was around, Clarke had a standing invitation to join them. On her way out of the apartment after the third or fourth time, Octavia asked for Clarke’s number, “I figure I probably ought to have your number if there’s ever an apocalypse at night. For all that he’s a worrier, he never leaves his phone turned up loud enough to wake him.” She explained with far too much eye-rolling for a twenty something, her brother informed her. Which earned him another eye-roll.

Clarke just laughed and traded phones with Octavia, punching her number into the younger girl’s phone, “We should definitely text all the time and make him super suspicious.” She stage whispered as Octavia handed her phone back, her number listed under ‘Octavia, The Cooler Blake’.

Bellamy walked his sister out to the bus stop, “Please tell me that was not you trying to get Clarke’s number because you want to hook up with her. Because, one, she’s my roommate, two, you have a boyfriend, and three, most importantly, I did not raise you to use lines that fucking terrible.”

She gave him an unimpressed look, “Clarke’s hot and if Lincoln had any interest in threesomes, that would _so_ be happening,” she plowed on, ignoring the abject horror on her brother’s face, “alas, he doesn’t. _You_ would do well to remember that she’s your roommate by the way, she’s hot and you’re going to be in close proximity for a while. Don’t get yourself in too deep.”

Bellamy glanced down at her, “I didn’t fall in love with any of my unit, I’m not going to fall in love with my roommate.”

Octavia just shook her head, stepping up to the curb as a bus rolled up, “If you say so. Oh, by the way, my pick-up lines are _way_ better than yours, Bell.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.  
> Reviews are life-blood.  
> Love,  
> Jane


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